Rabbit Heart
by IdratherbeinBritain
Summary: Teen Wolf AU: Stiles is a descendant from Salem Witches. Whenever he gets angry or a bit annoyed his magic likes to surface. So the flats on Derek's car, the electricity going off in the neighbor hood and Ms. Blake's skirt ripping when she bends over in class, is all due to Stiles getting angry. The black eyes come with the territory; which Scott thinks is the coolest thing ever.
1. Blinding

_"Trust me, you don't wanna see what happens when Stiles gets pissed." -__**Scott McCall**_

_* 8 years ago *_

"Make that move," She ordered, pointing at the orange leaf on the ground.

"You know I can't do that when people are around," Stiles sighed, closing his mouth as the 4th grade teacher passed them by. "Why did Scott say he was sick again?"

She stuffed her small hands into her soft jacket, sitting on the stone bench instead of ordering her older friend around. Olive dragged her knees up to her chin, patting the space next to her. Stiles frowned, continuing to stand in front of her, lips twisted down into a frown, as if he knew exactly what she'd done. When he opened his mouth, you could see the gaping holes left from lost baby teeth, and his words were tinged with the noise of a lisp.

"You didn't," he said, sitting next to her, slumping slightly. "Come on."

"I don't like him."

"Doesn't mean you have to-"

"You made the electricity go out!"

"And you made him feel sick!"

"Electricity cut out is worse!"

"Is not."

"Is to."

"Is not!"

"It to! I just want him away, we're a pair, Stiles, and he's- he messes you up!" Olive stated.

"He thinks this," Stiles's eyes briefly flickered black, the color sputtering out quickly. "Is cool, Hal." nickname, that only he got to use. "You don't."

"It's weird. I'm here to help you with that."

"I'm not a basket case."

She placed her hand on top of his, consequently curling around the handle of his backpack. If there was something she hated, it was Stiles angry. Olive wanted him happy, and she'd do almost anything to achieve that. In her mind they were a pair, even if things between them were getting a bit tense, because his mother had just died, and her mother had come down with something. And since they were a **_pair,_** she wanted no one else with them.

Yes, he wasn't a basket case, but he was dangerous. So was she, but in a very much dialed back fashion. His magic was more of the 'Attack' magic persuasion, while she relied on her manipulation of emotions. Olive manipulated his as well, sometimes, and Scott had shouted something along the lines, 'you've manipulated him into being your friend', which had injured their relationship further.

"I know."

Her car pulled up, and her father slid out, heading towards her. Olive remained stationary, unwilling to leave his side while she still felt he was angry. Solomon stopped in front of her, a tangle of emotions breaking the steady pulse of calm she was directing towards Dylan. He crouched in front of them, giving Dylan a brief nod, moving his hand to rest on Olive's knee.

"Halina," because that was her proper name. She assumed the name of Olive. "Your mother...is dead."

She sat there, waiting absorb the information, the words right there, almost hanging in front of her eyes. Chemotherapy was supposed to work, wasn't it? Her mother told her over and over that it was supposed to work. So obviously her father was lying.

Olive smiled faintly, giving out a little pulse of happiness to the area. A child laughed, and the entire group became a bit more rambunctious, surprising the teacher. It was late in the day, most of these kids were tired, so this sudden revival of their spirits spirits. Solomon shook his head, grabbing her little hand in his, rough palms contrasted with the soft of hers.

"Dead, Halina."

She braced herself, now flat out refusing to deal with the information, a emotional hurricane starting within her. Olive was at the center of it, breath coming faster, looking around wildly, a scream tickling her throat. The last thing she'd said to her mother was that she hated her, because she wasn't getting better. It'd just popped out, because a Nurse was pulling her away, and Irene was doing nothing to stop it. Mother had laid there, smiling weakly at her. And her father; he'd told her nothing.

"No she's not!" She shouted.

The Hale family looked up, stopping their loading into a car. Children stopped playing, the smaller ones crashing back on their bottoms, and proceeding to cry. She was tossed out of the eye of the hurricane, and into the storm, unable to really control herself. Dylan's breath caught in his throat, and she vaguely registered him grabbing his head in his hands, tendrils of black seeping from his pupil, pooling in his eyes, the black almost a mirror now.

Wind began to whip around the clearing, buffeting the Hales', who always seemed to be such an enterprising family. They came to the help now, catching hats, and the like, calming everyone considerably. Laura jogged over, questioning Solomon, who pointed to Olive. She was sitting, staring at the events she'd caused, slightly amazed, channeling the same mix of emotions still.

Then she remembered Dylan's situation, and stopped, putting something of a cork on now, grabbing Dylan. They'd been a veritable super storm over Beacon Hills when his mom passed, and the emotions she'd let fly had to somewhat mimic the ones he'd felt that day, so she'd done something bad. Worry replaced grief, and she shelved that emotion to take care of him, because at this point, not many other people did.

She tugged his hands from his head, holding them between hers, trying to catch his eyes. The black always shocked her, the way it transformed his face, making it so much more ...nasty. Olive did not find it cool, as Scott claimed. This was a flag that came with the territory of being angry. It was a rarity among witches now, as the Salem line was swiftly dying out; the ones with this much magic at least.

So here she was, struggling to tether him back down, calm him, as that was her job, along with making him happy, keeping him out of danger. The first time they'd met, her mother had told her this. And she was dead. She gave a soft wail, pushing her feelings further to the side like she always had to, putting him above her.

* * *

_Not anymore._

People buzzed around the hallways, not nudging once against her, creating a little ring. Olive brushed fingers through the messy fringe that shielded her forehead, eyes locked on Stiles and McCall. Stiles. It'd been 8 years, and he'd grown up, same as McCall. But she certainly wasn't here for him, was she?

Selections today, a sign read on the wall, and she considered it, just as Scott passed, shouldering a bag over his shoulder, a lacross stick breaking the little circle, rubbing against her wrist. She bit back a snarl, keeping her mind on diverting the crowd, annoyed that he'd not kept away. They didn't like the spot she was in, according to her persuasive techniques, so what was up with him? The only people she had difficulty affecting were werewolves in human form, and then she had absolutely no control when they wolfed out. Of course, as far as she knew, the Hales' were the only supernatural anomalies in Beacon Hills.

She brushed down her sweater sleeve, slumping a bit, trying to look like a less than motivated, normal teenager. The only one with a pep in her step was Lydia MArtin, who still seemed to reign as queen bee. Second day of school, and she wasn't even tired in the slightest. Stiles followed her movement, a dopey look on his face, raising a hand to catch her attention. This effort was missed entirely, and Lydia strutted past.

Maybe dressing down wouldn't make her fit in. Maybe she needed to be apart of this girl's group. Olive frowned, watching her go, considering this option, knowing her Aunt would be more than happy to pitch in with her dressing up. She'd dress up for 'success' though she may as well say, dressing up for vengeance. If she couldn't get back at those people for Milo's death, she'd find the one person who could.

She left Beacon Hills high school, calling a cab to pick her up, redirecting the principal as soon as he started towards her, stationed at the curb. It was only the second day of school or something, didn't he have something better to do? Now he did, at least.

Her Aunt was more than happy to buy her name brand items, even if her husband didn't look too happy when they came back and had to make three trips from the car. Olive purposely ignored her father, who still sat demurely at the table, poking at his food. It was his fault. Everything was his fault.

"Stay in school tomorrow," Solomon muttered, finally looking up when she walked across the room.

Olive held back a scathing response, sufficing with a little glare towards the steak, angrily flicking through channels, computer on her lap. She wanted homework to distract herself, remembering Milo's broken body, how they'd at least left him on the doorstep, her incompetent father. The quiet truth: she'd rather him be dead. Olive blinked cooly down at her laptop, clicking on Facebook.

Jackson's friend request popped up, and she thought back to him, wondering if he'd noticed her in the hallways. The chat pinged over the noise of her computer: you going to that party Friday? She'd been friends with him, and she had given him a little nod in the hallways on the first day, ghosting out before second period. So he had noticed, but, if his relationship status said anything besides Lydia orchestrated, he was in a relationship with her.

Her hands hovered over her keyboard, before typing back a yes, short and simple.

Right back, the reply: catch me up to what's been going on?

She really wasn't there to get to know people, but there was a certain benefit to socializing with the upper-hierarchy of school. Olive ran fingers continuously through her hair, staring at the message, clicking add friend, before shutting her laptop, and turning her attention to her food.

* * *

"What is up?" A guy hooted, as Lydia passed.

Olive sat back in the chair, watching the little trade between them, in which Jackson popped up, all 5'9 feet of, what it seemed, pure muscle. She held the red cup in her hands, staring at the people, watching patterns, the emotions running high. Arousal dripped from upper bedrooms like warmed molasses, and she could only imagine what was going on up there. A smile spread across her face, amused by the quick and easy way children's, which was a silly thing to say, as she was their age, basically, emotions could shift.

Jackson caught sight of her, pulling Lydia with him on his quest towards her. Lydia only looked happy with this situation when she saw Olive's dress, words just a bit slurred, compared to Jackson.

"I love your dress, where did you get it?" Lydia gushed, hand resting on my shoulder, the red and black dress shifting with the pressure.

"All she talks about are clothes," Jackson said.

Lydia's lips pursed, and she looked up to Jackson, lashes batting slightly. "Well, honey, you don't understand what my books are about, so," she looked towards me, giving me a simpering little smile, cool confidence behind it. "I keep it dumb."

"Versace. Spring catalog, 2013," Olive had no idea what to say; talk about the thread count? No, that applied to sheets.

"So pretty. You're also my friend. I'm going to get more drinks."

Jackson watched her go, before he turned back to Olivia, sitting down, patting her vacated spot. She sat as soon as his hand left the spot, shifting away from him, knowing he was, what you'd call, prime meat of the high school world, and if she poked him, they'd be chalked up to have been fucking. And it was only her third week back.

"How's it been?"

"Only one who's asked me that so far," Olive tapped her nail on the cup.

"Stiles is a dweeb," Jackson snorted, the beer bottle swinging between his fingers. "You always were chummy."

"You didn't like it."

His eyes rested on mine, and he took a sip very slowly, adam's apple working. "You're lucky you're good-looking; always were a bit weird."

_Precisely what every girl wanted to hear_, she thought blandly, hand going to her fringe. "Aren't I. Captain of lacrosse, correct?"

"I plan to stay that way," Jackson frowned down at his drink, eyes narrowing. "Where the fuck are the drinks?"

He stood up, and Olive was left alone again, somewhat pleasing, she had to say. At least she had a lunch group for next week, and the text books at the Martin house were definitely AP, and belonged to Lydia, who was apparently smart beyond clothes talk. And Stiles still had a thing for her. Of course. She was smart, funny, beautiful, and she wasn't…weird.

Stiles passed to the punch bowl which was close to her, playing with the ladle. If she was going to approach him now, spare a big entrance when he finally saw her at school Monday….

She wasn't here to make a big splash, of course, so she went ahead, and moved close, reaching out to rest a hand on his wrist, closing her eyes. He was apart of her she'd lost, ripped from, same with her mother, and she knew him, felt the little pit of guilt, grief, and anger still bubbling there. Stiles didn't move, shifting slightly, and she was able to listen to the little hitch in his breathing pattern, the jolt of anger and confusion that pulsed through her as well.

"God, I-" she broke slightly, itching to cup his hands in hers like she used to, realizing that his hands were drastically bigger than hers now.

He swallowed, eyebrows lifting very slowly. "You're back?"

"I'm back."

Back to use him, gain his trust, whatever it took, but he would help her exact her vengeance on the people who killed her brother. Whatever it took. Even if she had to mix with humans, and Scott McCall, who was definitely not human anymore. He ran past, and Stiles jerked to follow his path, but she didn't let him go.

"Dude, you okay?"

Scott didn't reply, stumbling away. Olive regarded his back carefully, before she flicked her eyes to Stiles. She didn't know what she felt towards him now, but not blind loyalty. Loyalty could take years to build, and a second to destroy. That second was their move from here; away from him, and only now did she realize that loyalty was overrated.

"You don't want to know why I'm back?"

"You being back is trouble in a nutshell," he stuffed hands into his jean pockets.

"And you already have enough of that, don't you?"

"Well, Scott..." Stiles started, giving a little shrug.

"I know what's going on. I've been here three weeks."

"And you haven't even talked to me?"

He frowned, peering down at her, making her feel slightly guilty, but then, he had no right to. Olive straightened her shoulders, setting her cup on the table.

"No," She said.

"Why?"

"Because you don't know me anymore."

"Bullshit, I know precisely who you are. You're my Hal."

"It's Olive."

"Hal."

"Olive."

"Hal."

"Olive, don't start this back and forth with me again, we're not kids anymore."

"Aren't we?"

She shifted, rolling her shoulders-back. "Do I look like a child?"

Olive wanted validation from him, and the realization that she wasn't 'his' anymore. He rubbed a hand over his head, which sported a buzzcut that looked grown out to a point. Stiles hand swung at his side once he dropped it, and he reached out for her shoulder. Olive shifted back.

"Olive, I...have to go take care of Scott."

As he walked away, she grabbed his elbow, pressing her self close to whisper in his ear, nails digging downwards. "We're witches. And witches don't mix well with werewolves. I come back to see you running to the shit pile that they seem to inhabit, blindly following Batman into the fray. Be glad I'm back."

"Not sure I am," he wriggled away, jogging out the door.

Olive crossed her arms over her chest, eventually moving to stride out, combat style boots making her feel a bit more powerful than she was. What she was meant for in this world was to calm him when it was needed, and now she'd flipped that entirely.

(idea credit to itsdereksfault, I thought -_**Teen Wolf AU: **__Stiles is a descendant from Salem Witches. Whenever he gets angry or a little bit annoyed his magic likes to surface. So the flats on Derek's car, the electricity going off in the neighbor hood, Peter getting paralyzed, and Ms. Blake's skirt ripping when she bends over in class, is all due to Stiles getting pissed. The only incident he hadn't controlled, willingly, out of the three was the neighbor hood lights. The black eyes come with the territory; which Scott thinks is the fuckin' coolest thing next to his own eyes changing colors.-_was very inspiring.


	2. Landscape

She rested on the benches, scooping her yellow dress under her, dragging her laptop out. Stiles strode out on the field taking notice of her, as if it possible you could ignore a bright yellow dress. Olive blinked once when he waved, tipping her head down towards her chromebook, bringing up the English essay, propping the Iliad up near her, scanning the text. After school practices really didn't seem fun, and she was only here to...work on her homework was a plausible excuse.

There was a collision, and she looked up. It was like being inside a building, and right outside, a crash occurred. It was a faint noise, but directly a hit. She panicked slightly, shifting everything from her lap, and starting down the bleachers. The lacrosse team, previously standing still, albeit worriedly, rushed forward to crowd Jackson, while she made a b-line to Stiles.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"Wolfing out," Stiles said, patting Scott on the shoulder. "Come on, get up. Come on. Come on."

She sensed someone else, another bundle of emotions, a veritable calm in the confusion, drawing her attention. Olive stopped, letting Stiles go, making eye contact with the stranger in black, jaw flexing, stepping forward. No reaction. He blinked once calmly, turning away, hunching down, before he shot off into the woods. Werewolf, because no one could creep like that species.

Olive stepped back towards the locker rooms, just as Scott and Stiles disappeared into them, ridiculously high heels slowing her progress. Apparently, the high contrast between bright yellow and cobalt blue was fashionable, or something? She shook her head, stopping briefly to unzip them, stepping out, jogging towards the building now, worried about him, even if she didn't want to be.

"Stiles?" she asked, walking down the hallway. Her voice escalated into hysteria, screaming, "Stiles!"

He stumbled out of the locker rooms, holding a fire extinguisher to his chest, catching sight of her, eyes wide in fright. Stiles was perspiring slightly, lacrosse helmet off, the rest of his uniform still on. She gripped his shoulder, peering into the room, listening to the weak call of his name. Olive narrowed her eyes, releasing his shoulders, striding into the room, hate for Scott's intrusion into the world of Supernatural finally sustained.

When he saw it wasn't a sympathetic party, he groaned, resting his head in his hands. She was yanked back, hand missing the back of his head by a few inches, because Stiles had replaced her with Scott 8 years ago. Olive's throat constricted, and she stood back, thinking back to her bag as she listened.

"What happened?" Scott asked his friend, as he crouched next to her.

"You tried to kill me ! It's like I told you before…It's the anger, it's your pulse rising."

And Stiles remained the smart one of the pair, at least that was a constant. Olive remembered reading while they played, and Scott would go near her dog's little area all the time, while Stiles called him back. Her dog didn't like him, and if her dog was alive, that would remain a thing. She wanted a dog, actually; a dog would be really nice. Or a cat. A short legged cat, like the corgi's of the cat world. Corgis.

She grinned wide, remembered John, a Corgi a neighbor in Ohio had owned. Of course, a trailer park hadn't been any place for a dog, let alone a human, but it'd been nice to know there was still something good in her life; something insanely cute. John's body would wiggle by itself whenever she came by his little post.

"But that's lacrosse. It's a pretty violent game, if you haven't noticed," Scott said.

"Well, it's gonna be much more violent if you kill someone on the fields. You can't play on saturday. You're gonna have to get out of the game," Stiles said simply.

"But I'm first line," Scott tried, and she rolled her eyes, wondering if that would ever qualify as an excuse.

"Not anymore," Stiles said.

She left them as soon as a ride home was secured with Stiles, giving Scott one last unimpressed look over, because she knew he was just as bad as he had been, getting Stiles into trouble, almost killing him. It was like kindergarten all over again, but her control over Stiles had lessened, and it was totally different from Scott telling him to eat a pencil. This involved fangs and claws, and super senses, and what she assumed was another werewolf. Soon, the shit would hit the fan, and she couldn't just smack the problem from hand.

Scott slid out of the Jeep, the noise of the passenger door shutting interrupting her thoughts, along with the vacated seat. She climbed in next to him, arranging her back on her lap; she focused on her heels to avoid conversation, but Stiles was Stiles.

"So, uh, you look- hanging out with Lydia? Did she-"

"No, she did not say anything about you."

He shifted uncomfortably, waving his hand off to the side. "I was not going to say that. But, really?"

"Oh fucking hell."

"Okay, okay. Look, how-"

"Turn left."

"Oh, this is like the big house part of Beacon Hills, ritzy."

She cut a glance over to him, eyebrows raising in exasperation. He waggled his, smiling a bit nervously. "Focus on the road. Right turn, at the end of the cul de sac, left side."

"'kay," he answered slowly, turning into her driveway. "Mission accomplished. Do I get a prize, or, no?"

"You can stop, like, right now."

"Sorry. I just- you aren't the same. I can't read you like I used to be able to. It's weird."

She opened the door, sliding out of the Jeep, stepping up the steps, the pillars stretching high above her. Stiles's jeep didn't leave the drive, and he actually got out. Olive frowned, unlocking the door quickly, stepping inside to throw her bag over on the table in the landing area. The spiral staircase loomed in front of her, the mood of the house to her seeming neutral, and maybe a bit comforting, if she had to say it.

Her father shuffled by then, breaking any semblance of comfort, his eyes ringed, obviously tired. She stiffened, leaning away from him as he moved towards the door, her father registering this quickly, making no complaint against this.

"Someone is banging on the door."

Stiles had been banging on the door while she observed the house, but she'd learned to mute annoying loud sounds in Ohio. Trailers had very thin walls, and quite frankly, two years in one had been hell. But then, so had NYC.

"You left your biology textbook," Stiles explained, looking over Solomon's shoulder. "Oh, hi, Mr. Ainsley."

her father stood a bit taller, smiling kindly at Stiles. "Stiles. You're still around."

"Yup, so is Scott. Where's Milo?"

Olive crossed her arms tight over her chest, avoiding both of their gazes. Solomon cleared his throat, copying her movements, doing the same little shuffle she pulled off. She instantly stopped, disgusted with herself. Her father eventually walked off, rubbing a hand through his curls, muttering quietly to himself. Olive would've done the same, but there were common courtesies she had to follow, even if she didn't particularly like them.

"Nevermind," Stiles said quickly, proffering her book. "You left this. Algebra 1?"

She winced, looking down at her shoes. "I fail algebra every year, so I'm taking it for the 3rd time. Hopefully it's the charm, you know?" Olive laughed nervously now, feeling a bit less smart with this profession. She even had trouble in Biology, because she couldn't handle the concept of the metric system. It just wasn't easy for her to handle numbers, but she made up for it in English in a big way.

"Oh. Oh, okay, that's cool. I mean, do you want help, because I can help; it's absolutely cool?"

"Cool."

"Cool."

She shuffled, digging her shoe into the floor, making a little scratch that her Aunt would most definitely bring up later, bringing instant regret to her mind. Olive gripped her elbow tight, shifting again, hating to request something from him. But she had to. Even if it was only to integrate herself back into his life, and not to finally pass math that had stumped her for years now.

"Cam you- now? Maybe?"

"Scott's probably going to video call me at night, and my dad thinks I'm staying after for tutoring at Lacrosse, so, why not, what do you need?"

He strolled into her kitchen, leaving the book on the island,opening the fridge.

"Oh, please, help yourself without asking me."

"Will do."

Olive smiled slightly, and he smiled back, coming out with a liter of sprite and leftover pizza, pointing behind him. He was holding glaze between his teeth, and was obviously motioning to the cinnamon sticks he'd pulled out. She took it to the second microwave, letting him program it himself.

"Did you like, order from pizza hut and not eat anything?"

"Actually, yea."

"That's really, really not cool. Waste of food, some other starving teen, mainly me. Don't call Scott, call me. Me."

"I get it."

"Call me for pizza, there's your phrase."

"I don't have your number, and I don't want Scott's."

"Are you saying you want my number, because a girl asking for my number is a huge first."

"No it isn't."

He nodded, eyebrows raised high, pointing to himself. "Scrawny does not drop underwear."

Olive smiled slightly, tipping her head to the side, watching him move around, using magic to float some things back to him. Sometimes he'd overshoot, and have to duck, the plate hovering directly over his head. He smiled a bit nervously at her, giving a shrug, eyes widening briefly.

"I forgot you're like an amplifier for me."

"Whatever."

"Dude, you've been gone 8 years, I almost forgot your name."

She raised her eyebrows at the name dude, wondering briefly why it annoyed her to have him refer to her in such a friendly term, eventually shrugging, and looking off to the side. At least she was comfortable around him; most guys made her nervous, and since they'd begun to talk to her randomly, this fact had been made even more apparent. She was only cool around Scott because she harbored dislike for him, and Jackson because she viewed him as friend. Even if he was something of a douchebag these days.

Lydia just scared her. She was like the new and improved version of Olive, and she was slightly jealous, to tell the truth. Maybe if she hadn't moved as much, she'd be able to dominate the social pyramid like that, instead of drifting to the back of everyone's mind by the second week. For now, Olive wished she was like Lydia Martin in a large way, wished she wouldn't fade, wished she was smarter, just was a teenage girl. So Stiles wouldn't forget her name.

"Doesn't matter. I almost forgot yours too," she lied, because his name had gone through her mind every single day since she'd left.

Stiles nodded, now focused on taking the pizza and the like out, nosing around for the living room. Teenage boys could not only find the fridge as soon as they crossed the threshold, but the most comfortable spot to make a mess. He spread himself out on the couch, waving her over, pizza hanging from his mouth now. Olive looked worriedly at the expensive leather couch, then to Stiles, who had her book open on his lap.

Maybe she'd made the wrong choice, inviting him in; what he currently had in his mouth had been a potential dinner. Terrible.

* * *

Olive was always up late, and had something of insomnia these days. It was just frustrating for her, because her thoughts would turn to Milo, and she'd be on her computer, logging into complied evidence, and sitting there, the glow lighting her room.

Her finger slid through her fringe, messing it up a bit, hair coming loose from her ponytail, frowning at the screen. The most she'd learned about his disappearance, and eventual death, was that a woman was responsible. A woman who could beat the shit out of a fairly large 19 year old. Olive stared at the grainy image, nodding off once or twice, and eventually trundling back to bed.

Maybe she should just move on, get an actual life, rather than starting at that picture. Olive covered her face with her hands, staring into the pitch black provided by her hands. No.


	3. Bird Song

"Mister Stilinski ! If that's your idea of a quiet whisper, you might want to take out your earphones out in a while! I think you and mister McCall would benefit for a little distance, yes?" The teacher asked, glaring over at Stiles.

Olive watched them get separated, tapping her pen against paper, staring at the back of Scott's head. A bus had been found fairly torn up by some kind of wild animal. That wild animal had to be him. He'd attacked Stiles, there was no telling what he would do, and it was ridiculous that Stiles was blindly trusting him. If she could do anything to him that'd be undetectable, things that Stiles could do, but refused to, then her problem would be gone.

Scott shifted, looking over his shoulder to meet her eyes. Olive looked away instantly, staring out the window, perking up when she saw the evidence of a discovery. A girl was out of her seat already, alerting the entire class. Instantly, everyone was wide away, one sleeping boy falling out of his seat to crowd the window. She stood up to, unable to see anything but a stretcher, standing close to her seat.

It wasn't as if she wanted to be involved in this stuff, and if it was Scott's fault, something she was almost 75% sure of, he'd get what was coming to him. The man on the stretcher abruptly sat up, screaming wildly, and Olive jolted back, surprised by this, as he'd looked fairly dead, bumping into Stiles. Her intrusion had caused their whispers to halt abruptly, Scott still looking towards the man worriedly.

"You," Olive hissed, crossing her arms over her chest.

Scott rolled his eyes, pressing his hands to his chest, eyebrows pulling together. "Why do you have it out for me? You were gone for 8 years, and you still can't get over the fact that I'm his friend too, so what's up? It's not as if I'll steal him from you, we can share."

"Share?" Stiles put in.

"I don't want to share, and besides, you know what we have."

"A weird ass magical bond," Scott said.

"It's not weird."

A rush of agitation fluxed through the students around him, and Olive struggled to tether herself back down, crossing her arms tight over her chest. She jutted her head forward mulishly, glowering up at Scott.

"Hey, I'm right here, you two know that, right?" Stiles stuck arms between them, shifting them apart. "Let's not."

His eyes briefly turned black, sending up a large flag that he was annoyed by this. She gave him one last glare before walking back to her seat, and depositing herself heavily into it, grabbing her pencil, tapping it wildly against her paper. In short form, she pouted like a 8 year old, watching their continued exchange, till the bell rang for lunch.

She changed her attitude in the blink of an eye when she saw Lydia, trying to radiate happiness with her smile, and stance. Allison's presence threw her off, but she recovered, walking through the line with them. Allison was stalled, so she and Lydia walked to a table, talking about prospective males on the Lacrosse team. For her, which she found odd, and just made her nervous to even consider boys at this point.

They sat at Stiles's table. Well, Stiles and Scott, but she wasn't going to even consider Scott right now. Stiles looked wide eyed at Lydia, as if amazed that she was even sitting near him.

"Figure out what?" Lydia asked brightly.

"Er..homework," Stiles answered, and Scott quickly agreed.

He leaned close to whisper to Scott, eyes darting to Lydia. Olive watched them, looking up when Allison and two other guys sat down. Jackson came over, and ousted the other boy.

"Why don't you ask Danny to move?" the guy asked, clearly frustrated.

"Because I don't stare at his girlfriend's coin-slot," Danny supplied.

The boy left, eyes flickering briefly to Olive, mouth twisting down in distaste. She hunkered down a bit over her food, uncomfortable with the idea of being around all of these people that she barely knew. Jackson was a friend because he was blunt to a point of fault, and she'd known him as such 8 years ago. Also, he wasn't trying to get close to Stiles, so A+.

"So I heard it was an animal attack," Danny said. "Probably a cougar."

Jackson jerked his chin up in her direction, before responding to Danny's comment, "I heard it was a mountain lion."

"A cougar is a mountain lion," Lydia corrected instantly, and Jackson looked at her like she was weird. She covered up her correct answer with, "Isn't it?"

If Olive was that smart, she wouldn't hide it, ever (okay, maybe it was simple comment, but AP classes and the Applied physics book sticking out of her bag). And maybe she was as smart as her, though it probably wasn't true. She poked at her food, rolling the apple around on her tray, contemplating her homework, and various acts to carry out this afternoon, barely listening to them make plans about bowling, or whatever.

Olive didn't know how to bowl, as noone had ever cared enough to take her, and nor had she made an effort to learn. She saw bowling in the TV shows, were two people would go, the boy would show the girl how to bowl, or vice versa, and they'd kiss, or whatever, but her life wasn't a TV show. If it was, it was an incredibly shitty TV show, and the main character was fucked over because the writers were bullshitters. Except Milo wasn't going to come back to life.

* * *

She wriggled the window open slowly, sitting inside, thanking hereditary genes that she was small, practically waltzing into the files room, happy with the results of her break-in. Olive wrestled her turtleneck down a bit further, the progress taken back as she decided to to pull up her black, ankle length yoga pants. Not that she took yoga class.

She'd gotten someone online to enhance the photo for her, and run it through a scanner. Apparently she was dealing with Kate Argent. Possibly related to Allison ARgent? She frowned, striding forward to the A drawer. The fact that the Police here hadn't shifted to online records made her slightly worried for her safety. Of course, Stiles's father was the Sheriff, so maybe it wasn't all that bad.

She began to rifle through the drawer, hoping the woman had something of a criminal record, making a annoyed noise when she laid her eyes on a mostly blacked out form. It's been redacted, omitting her birth place, date, and first name. She knew the latter information, but… With a frustrated cry, she threw the folder on the ground, wanting to punch something, hating herself for being unable to find anything, realizing that she'd failed him.

Suddenly, she felt a pulse of fear radiate from the doorway down. Olive wished she could manipulate her surroundings like Stiles could, but she was stuck with reducing the man to a couch, have him hold his head while she shut the door for him. As soon as she blocked it, she let him sit up, tears streaming from wide eyes, looking shell shocked. The ability to reduce someone to their knees was just because she could project sadness to a such a point it overwhelmed normal people.

"You tell anyone-"

"Help!" he croaked, shuffling back, as quickly as possible, screaming finally, "Help!"

Olive panicked, knowing she was less than imposing, and should've been imploring him rather than shouting at him. She scrambled forward, grabbing his collar, eyes darting to his name tag. 'Isaac, assistant Janitor.' Which was interesting, because most of the 16 year olds here didn't have jobs. Stiles didn't have one because his father struggled to keep him out of trouble anyways. Scott had a job at the clinic, if she remembered correctly his passion for animals, and the rest...she was fairly sure that was a no.

"Shut up," she hissed, jerking him forward, then back, his head slamming hard against the concrete. The pain he felt radiated sharply through her, and she was immediately sorry, crouching next to him, and setting him up. The blow had slowed him, though, so for that she was thankful. As of now, she was empathising with him, trying to make him feel better, disgusted with the way she let the spectrum of emotions in.

Too late. A policeman was already jogging down the steps, catching sight of her, and sprinting to catch her. Olive didn't try to run, allowing herself to be tackled, and handcuffed by Sheriff Stilinski.

When the man got a good look at her, he stopped dragging her along, stopping in the middle of the corridor. She looked down guiltily when he set his hands on his hips, looking at her like her father used to; with disapproval. They'd stopped really communicating this past year, the death of her brother the final cord to be snapped between them.

"Did Stiles put you up to this, Olive?"

"...yes?"

"Damn it, that darn kid," he said, hand rubbing across his forehead. "Let me see your hands."

Stiles must've to him she was back, and thus insinuated he was talking to her. She'd take any out at the moment, and hope Stiles would take the rap for her. He unlocked the cuffs, setting them back on his belt, standing back.

"Welcome back to town," He said, laughing when she smiled. "Try not to beat up everyone you see, you don't have to do everything for Stiles anymore."

She gave a little smile, saying, "That darn kid."

"Exactly. I don't think Isaac will press charges, he's a good kid, and so are you."

"Yup."

"Alright," he said, guiding her out. "Once again, please don't beat up kids, and don't do everything Stiles tells you."

Olive nodded, walking fast now, hooking the corner, being left to walk all the way back to her house, without having accomplished a damn thing. And it was the worst 45 minute walk ever. She even got a call from Stiles, listening to him shout angrily about getting grounded for her for about a minute, before she stopped doing that, staring up at the ceiling.

"Hal, are you listening to me?!"

"No," she sighed, not bothering to correct him.

"Look, where are you?"

"My house," she mumbled, and then after a minute, "You?"

"leaving Scott's house. The dude who got attacked this morning, he's dead."

She heard the sputter of the Jeep's engine, heard him curse, and a loud whoosh of wind rocking the car. "Calm down."

"I hate it when it doesn't start, oh my gosh, I have no money."

"Ah, the lament of teenagers."

"Haha, don't try to pass up my sarcasm, I rule here."

"Do you now?"

"In fact I do, have you seen the people I deal with? Jackson is a douche nozzle, I mean, wow."

"He doesn't like you."

"And I don't like angsty teens either."

"you are a teen."

"I am a sarcastic teen, there is a huge difference there."

She smiled, running a hand through her hair, deciding to sit up and kick off her shoes. "Sorry for getting you in trouble, I guess."

"Hey, you owe me now," he said, voice a bit more distant, as he'd probably set his phone down to drive.

"I do?"

"You do," he said instantly. "I'm going to cash it in now, and tell you to get along with Scott. Please."

"You know I don't like him."

"But that doesn't mean you can't get along, and not hang out with us more."

"I have other stuff to do."

"Like stare blankly ahead while Lydia talks about your hair."

"Actually, yes."

"Look, unless you're actively talking me up, like, 24/7, you shouldn't be doing something you don't want."

"I'll bring you up, then. Goodbye, Stiles."

"Hey!" he yelped, as she was about to hit end. "Don't date anyone on the First string."

"Why?"

"Just 'cause they're all steriod junkies I bet-"

"No."

"Hear me out."

"No."

She hung up, stooping to plug in the charger. He called one more time, and she rolled her eyes, turning it all the way off.


	4. Swimming

"Olive," Stiles hissed frantically, banging on the side of his jeep.

Technically, she wasn't listening to anything on her ipod, so she could hear him just fine. She looked over at him, stopping on the sidewalk, watching him hop out, and jog towards her, catching her elbow in his hand, proceeding to drag her towards the car. Olive's steps stuttered, confused with the situation, his palpable panic and anger. He opened the back door, heaving her up into it quickly.

"Stiles, what-" she saw the werewolf there, looking exceedingly pale, brow damp. "The hell?"

"I dunno what to do. Anyways, Olive meet Derek, Derek, don't hurt Olive," he said, driving a bit faster now, lips twisted down. "Hey," he addressed the man as he took off his jacket. "try not to bleed out on my seats, okay? We're almost there."

"Almost where?" Derek asked, voicing Olive's concerns.

"Your house," Stiles answered.

Olive had no idea where his house was.

"What? No, you can't take me there," he protested

"I can't take you to your own house?"

"Not when I can't protect myself."

Stiles pulled over to the side of the road, halt jerking her forward just a bit in her seat belt. He leaned over, eyes flickering black, one of the window wipers, jerking erratically till it finally broke off, and slumped downwards. Olive swallowed, worried he would lose his cool, which was definitely not good, to have a sudden thunderstorm appear above one spot in currently sunny Beacon Hills.

"All right. What happens if Scott doesn't find your little magic bullet? Hmm? Are you dying?"

"Not yet. I have a last resort," Derek was breathing heavily now, eyes a bit puffy. Olive considered telling Stiles he needed to get him to a shower, or something, but she assumed it wasn't going to be as easy as cooling him down.

"What do you mean? What last resort?" Stiles almost shouted, hands flying around wildly. Derek pulled his shirt up, and he groaned, anger replaced by disgust, "Oh, my God. What is that? Oh, is that contagious? You know what, you should probably just get out."

"Start the car. Now."

"I don't think you should be barking orders with the way you look, okay?" Stiles said. "In fact, I think if I wanted to, I could probably drag your little werewolf ass out into the middle of the road and leave you for dead."

"Start the car, or I'm gonna rip your throat out - With my teeth."

Olive narrowed her eyes, shifting her body, finger resting on the release button of her, watching them stare at each other for a second. Stiles started the car, looking down once to possibly dispel his black eyes, the jeep jumping forward, before it found a steady rhythm forward.

She looked at the wound, wincing slightly, nose wrinkled in disgust. It looked yellow around the edges of the entry wound, and there was no exit wound, so the bullet was still in his arm, festering there. Reaching out, she touched at it briefly, looking to him, frowning slightly, wondering whether she should help him or now. Derek gave a weak growl when she poked again, flashing her a glare.

Olive looked to Stiles, who was ignoring them both, pouting as he waited for the light to turn green. She pulled off her polo shirt, knowing she'd be questioned non-stop if it turned up in the laundry not clean, but she couldn't manage someone sitting there in pain. Even if he was a werewolf.

She offered him her shirt, simultaneously pulling up her tank-top around her bust. Derek took it from her, wrapping it around his arm tight, giving her a little nod of thanks. Stiles shuffled wildly, looking back to her, eyes dropping to her chest brows raising before he looked up at her, trying to find words. Wow, teenagers. Fun.

They remained in the same spot till they were able to contact Scott. It was dark by that time, and she was cold, curling in the corner, resting her head against the back of the seat.

"What am I supposed to do with him?" Stiles asked. Scott must've replied, but it was too muffled for her to hear. "And, by the way, he's starting to smell."

Response from McCAll

"Like death," Stiles said.

Reply. She was able to make out "clinic"

" What about your boss?"

Scott's reply was longer now.

"You're not gonna believe where he's telling me to take you," Stiles murmured, handing Derek the phone.

As soon as the phone touched his ear, Derek asked,"Did you find it?"

Long drawn out response, and Scott's voice was a bit angrier now.

"Look, if you don't find it, then I'm dead, all right?"

Scott replied quickly.

"Then think about this. The Alpha called you out against your will. He's gonna do it again. Next time you either kill with him or you get killed. So if you wanna stay alive, then you need me. Find the bullet," he commanded.

Stiles started the car, turning on the hot air, giving Olive a little smile.

"Aren't you two cute. Want me to move to the back seat so you can hold hands?" Derek deadpanned, apparently still capable of being annoying.

"We're not dating," Olive said instantly.

Stiles raised his hand off the wheel once, as if to reiterate that sentence, pulling over behind the animal shelter. He didn't meet her eyes when they got out, scooting awkwardly around her. She didn't know if it was because of the comment, or just Stiles being Stiles, so she let it go, standing with Derek to watch Stiles search behind the dumpsters.

He revealed a key, walking over to crouch before the delivery area for what seemed to be dog food and the like. opening it, allowing us to step in. Stiles got a text as Derek collapsed on a couple of dog foods, head lolling to the side, before he held it steady.

"Does nordic blue monkshood mean anything to you?" Stiles asked him.

"It's a rare form of wolfsbane. He has to bring me the bullet," Derek panted.

"Why?"

"'Cause I'm gonna die without it."

Stiles shuffled a bit, looking at him. "So, is that definite, do we have a set time, like a count down, or is that-" Derek narrowed his eyes. "No, okay, cool."

Olive shook her head, smiling briefly, amused by the interaction. They all started off into the clinic, Stiles opening the double doors as Derek dragged his sweater over his head, stumbling towards the stainless steel table. She passed by the kennel, looking into the rows of dog, catching sight of a few corgis, brightening at their appearance, tempted to walk into the room and just forget about all of this.

But Stiles had her arm, and was pulling her into the room, leaving her alone to take off his plaid layer, and holding it out for her. Surprisingly, it hung off her. She just thought that at least Stiles's clothing would fit her frame.

A tattoo on Derek's back caught her eyes as he leaned over the table, resting his left arm heavily on the table. Veins in his arms stood out black, and the blood was still fresh looking, her polo shirt absolutely ruined now. She rounded the table to stand at Stiles's side, eyes drifting a bit unconsciously over Derek's body, thinking that all that running in the woods after rabbits had to build up bulk.

"Okay. You know, that really doesn't look like anything some echinacea and a good night of sleep couldn't take care of." Stiles asked nervously.

" When the infection reaches my heart, it'll kill me," Derek said, breathing heavily now, eyes drifting half closed.

""Positivity" just isn't in your vocabulary, is it?" Stiles asked.

" If he doesn't get here with the bullet in time - Last resort."

"Which is?"

"One of you are going to cut my arm off," Derek stated.

Olive stepped back, signaling that she was not going to be the one. In fact, she'd like to be on the other side of the door.

"Oh, my God. What if you bleed to death?" Stiles said.

"It'll heal if it works."

Derek was tying off his arm, and Olive flinched, hands twitching in an urge to cover her eyes. Jesus christ, could be a little more delicate about that? It looked so casual, as if he cut off his arm every day.

"Ugh. Look - I don't know if I can do this," Stiles's face was screwed up, and he almost seemed like he was about to throw up.

"Why not?" Derek spoke around the rubber tie.

"Well, because of the cutting through the flesh, the sawing of the bone, and especially the blood!

"You faint at the sight of blood?"

"No, but I might at the sight of a chopped-off arm!" he shouted, hand banging down on the table.

Olive was huddled in the corner now, peeking occasionally, wondering how far along it was. Okay, no blood. Good. Kind of. Maybe.

Derek sighed, finally growling, "All right, fine. How about this? Either you cut off my arm, or I'm gonna cut off your head.."

"Okay, you know what, I'm so not buying your threats any -" Stiles started, cut off by Derek yanking him forward. "Oh, my God. Okay. Alright, bought, sold. Totally. I'll do it. I'll do it. What? What are you doing?" He was flinching back from Derek, talking fast. Then Derek leaned over the table and vomited black stuff. Olive shrieked, covering her eyes completely now, panicking, unsure what to do, feeling Derek's pain, and Stiles' panic. "Holy God, what the hell is that?"

He grabbed her hand squeezing on tight, shocking Olive just a bit, but she could feel his emotions acutely now. And she was just as freaked out as he was.

"It's my body - Trying to heal itself." Derek spoke from where he hung over the table.

"Well, it's not doing a very good job of it."

"Now. You gotta do it now."

He was still over the table, arm propped just so. Olive's eyes widened, and her stomach churned, hoping a thousand times over that this wouldn't happen.

"Look, honestly, I don't think I can," Stiles said, waving his hand as if to brush the thought to the side.

"Just do it!"

"Oh, my God. Okay, okay. Oh, my God." Stiles let go of her hand, dipping to grab the bone saw, the noise causing her breath to quicken, and she finally covered her face with her hands. standing far back from the table. " Alright, here we go!"

"Stiles!" Scott shouted.

Olive dropped her hand, experiencing relief at hearing Scott for the first time in her life. She almost wanted to hug him, but the feeling dissolved quickly.

"Scott?" STiles gasped

"What the hell are you doing?" Scott exclaimed.

"Oh, you just prevented a lifetime of nightmares." Stiles sighed, bone saw clattering to the side.

"Did you get it?" Derek asked, still half off the table, fingers twitching weakly.

Scott dug in his pocket, locating it, and passing it to Derek. The older man took it, holding it up to the light. He would've looked relieved, but Olive was fairly sure he was too close to the edge to really feel anything. Olive was a bit shell-shocked, fingers still on her cheeks, staring at them like they were all insane.

"What are you gonna do with it?" Stiles asked.

"I'm gonna -" Derek was swaying, words faint. "I'm gonna -" He let the bullet fall to the floor as he passed out, rolling fast.

"No. No, no, no, no," Scott repeated.

Derek hit the floor as Scott dove for the bullet, reaching under the counters to a grate.

"Derek. Derek, come on, wake up," Stiles said, patting his cheek. "Scott, what the hell are we gonna do? Olive?!"

"I don't know! I can't reach it," Scott panted

"He's not waking up!" Stiles exclaimed, as Olive rounded the corner, dropping to her knees across from Stiles, hands fluttering over Derek's prone form.

"Could you electrify him?" she asked.

"I can only do that when a natural storm is over head, you know that," Stiles looked to her. "Can you do anything with his emotions?"

"I can't manipulate werewolves, you know that."

"I didn't actually, thanks for telling me that incredibly important fact!"

"Come on," Scott grunted.

"I think he's dying. I think he's dead!" Stiles said,

" Just hold on! Come on. Oh! I got it! I got it!"

"Please don't kill me for this," Stiles said, drawing back his fist, landing a hard blow on Derek's face. "Ugh! Ow! God!" He exclaimed.

It had worked, Derek was awake, and reaching for the bullet. "Give me -"

"Up!" Scott said, and they all heaved Derek to his feet, Olive's little hands sliding on his damp back.

Stiles was still fucking with his hand, shaking it in the air. Olive grasped it, in hers, looking it over, giving him a nonplussed brow raise, not impressed by one split knuckle. Derek was biting into the bullet, drawing her attention elsewhere. She winced, both her hands still cupping Stiles' one hurt hand, surprised at how cold it was, teeth hurting just from watching Derek bite the metal piece.

It broke apart, and he lit it on fire, the smoke turning blue as soon as the flare had gone down. Stiles's arm was between her and the table, his body turned to hers, shielding her somewhat. Olive frowned, used to her doing the protecting, staring up at Stiles, even as he watched Derek scoop the stuff into his hand, and slap it on his wound, groaning in pain. The noise escalated into a scream, and he fell back from the table, keeping a finger in the entry wound, finally falling on the floor.

He writhed and screamed there, while they watched, Olive eyes going wide, knowing exactly what he was feeling, the sensation crashing into her, and she barely repelled it, stepping back to try and lessen the feeling, lips trembling. Stiles turned back to her, but was distracted by Scott's nudge, looking back to watch teh wound recede and heal to nothing.

"That - Was - Awesome! Yes!" Stiles exclaimed, pumping his fist, turning to Olive to give her a high five.

Tentatively, she extended a hand, and he high-fived it, looking overjoyed, but still he ignored her feelings. Olive knew this wasn't a change, but… she shook her head, dispelling the thought.

"Are you okay?" Scott asked Derek.

"Well, except for the agonizing pain," Derek snarked in return, giving a little eye roll as he said this.

Derek gave a very threatening posture, glaring at all of us.

"Okay, we saved your life, which means you're gonna leave us alone, you got that? And if you don't, I'm gonna go back to Allison's dad, and I'm gonna tell him everything -

"You're gonna trust them? You think they can help you?" Derek asked.

"Well, why not? They're a lot freaking nicer than you are," Scott snapped.

"I can show you exactly how nice they are." Derek said.

"What do you mean?"

They split up as soon as Stiles drove them back to school, Derek and Scott driving off in his considerably nicer car, while she was stuck listening to Stiles's shitty radio.

She broke their silence to grumble, "Is that Justin Timberlake?"

Stiles reached to the volume dial, turning up 'Rock Your Body', grinning over at her as he started to sing, voice high-pitched next to Justin's tone. Olive groaned, smile covering her face despite it all. God what a dork. This used to be one of his favorite songs, something he'd forced on her, while she just sat and sulked, listening to Red Hot Chili Peppers instead. Olive felt she was superior.

"Don't be so quick to walk away; just think of me and you. Don't be so quick to walk away; we could do something," Stiles sang, wiggling a bit wildly, turning down the the drive. "Come on Olive, I know you know this song."

Olive shook her head rapidly, smiling like an idiot, looking over at him, wondering why she was so damn happy. She should be annoyed, and getting out of the car right now. But she let him finish, joining in faintly at some parts, dancing like she usually did, tilting her head side to side. Stiles leaned across, muttering something of the lines of 'let me get that for you' as he opened the door, hopping out of his own as soon as her foot touched the ground.

He stopped her in front of the headlights, stuffing his hands into his jeans. She was in tight black skinny jeans, and a black sweater that used to cover a polo and an undershirt with a decal of an owl, so, it wasn't exactly her top outfit of the week. Of course, Stiles and his outerwear wasn't shuff anyways.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yea, I'm fine," Olive answered. But she wasn't really.

"No you're not."

"He was in alot of pain, you know," She sighed, running a hand through her little fringe. "I can feel it. I can feel it...and it hurts, it make me sad, I didn't mean to be useless," she tucked hair over her ear, looking up at him. "Sorry.

"Hey," he laughed, pulling her into a brief little hug, squeezing her arm briefly. "You weren't. Maybe a bit, but, wow, your magic blows,"

She hit him on the arm somewhat playfully, taking some offence. "Does not."

"Does too."

"Does not."

"Does too."

"Does not," she laughed, slapping her hand down on his, aware of his slight tilt forward.

"Does too."

He was looking at her. Looking at her like he wanted to kiss her, and she shrunk back just a bit, letting her hand drop from his to swing at her side.

"It does not, and you know it," Olive said, shouldering her bag, walking up the steps of her house, waving back at him. "Goodnight, Stiles."

"Hey, you want to help me fix the windshield wiper on my jeep?"

"Lydia will definitely not come to that."

"Well, how about just you?"

"Goodnight Stiles!" she said a bit more vehemently now, opening the door.

He laughed, calling, "Night Hal."


	5. Dog Days Are Over

"Halina," Mr. Harris called for role, finishing on her name

"It's Olive," she sighed, dragging a hand through her fringe. "With an O. I mean, I'd spell it for you, but it's Chemistry. So, O for oxygen."

The man arched a regal eyebrow, "I see being near Mr. Stilinski affects everyone's sarcasm levels."

Then he proceeded to start his speech about parent night. Apparently, if you had a below C average, which she did not, (91 solidly in this class) you were required to attend. Her Aunt and her father would probably come if they wanted, since her 'Uncle' was a bit too busy being the CFO of some multi-million tech company. She said 'Uncle' because only her Aunt was related to her directly, and had married Greg. Uncle.

"Everyone, start reading Chapter Nine. Mr. Stilinski. Try putting the highlighter down between paragraphs. It's chemistry, not a coloring book."

Olive was slightly impressed by MR. Harris, turned around to the board and he still managed to radiate detached hatred. Stiles spit out the cap, catching it in his hand. _The Sass-pire Strikes Back_. She turned to Jackson, who she sat beside in Chemistry only, wondering is she should reach out and rest a hand on his wrist, comfort him somehow, but he really wasn't a touchy feely guy, so she kept her hands to herself.

"Are you okay?" She queried, concentrating on trying to unravel the confusion and anger that Jackson was radiating.

He shook his head pushing his hand through his quiff, then quickly rearranging it. Jackson turned to look around the room, seeming incredibly agitated, pencil barely touching the guided notes, not that Mr. Harris called him out on that. As she exited the school, she realized that neither Lydia, Allison, or Scott were present. Of course, other people were out, but she noticed them specifically; even if it was at the last minute.

"Stiles, where are you-" she started as he walked out.

"Lydia's house."

Jealousy flared inside her as he blew past her, barely sparing her a look. She glowered after him, shuffling once before she decided to jog after him, backpack slamming painfully against the small of her back with every other motion.

"I need a goddamn ride, Stilinski!"

Stiles sighed, flopping back dramatically in his seat, groaning as she sat in the passenger side. Olive clenched her jaw when she saw the evidence of his annoyance, crossing her arms tight over her chest, frustrated, wishing he would just….forget about Lydia. Maybe she cared too much about it, when there was no reason that she should. It's not as if she was as naive as she used to be, thinking they were a pair still.

Did she like him? Like, like, not just like...ugh, fuck, like, more than friends. She ducked her head, glancing at him out of the side of her eyes, considering him. Okay, maybe. Hell, the way he'd looked at her might just be her misinterpreting the whole thing, but did she want him to kiss her.

The jeep halted somewhat violently on her driveway, and she opened the door, striding out, slamming it behind her. Just because he wanted to pursue some girl who barely acknowledged his existence, didn't mean he got to treat her like shit.

She lay on her bed, pouting there till she fell asleep, waking up the next morning with her shoes and clothes still on. Her father used to check on her when she came home, ask what was wrong, and she'd never respond. So he'd given up on years ago. Not Milo. Milo would annoy her till she'd shout exactly what was wrong with her, and he'd make it all better, because he was just...a great big brother.

Olive kicked off her shoes, wondering what Lydia did to have so many guys vying for her. She was beautiful. But then, Olive was fairly sure she was as pretty, maybe. Hopefully. Or maybe no one liked her because of her skin tone, as most of the kids she'd seen at Beacon Hills weren't mixed in any sense of the word. Kids had teased her for just that reason back in Middle School.

Middle School. She hated- she hated. Apparently, she wasn't black enough, whatever that meant. She didn't talk like them, she didn't act like them, but she tried to. 'are you serious, you're fucking lame'. They never...but she never exactly fit in with anyone. Except with Stiles.

Her father knocked, shuffling in, dressed as usual in pajamas, ignoring her bark of 'did I say come in' sitting on the foot of her bed. Olive shifted, huddling back against her headboard, glaring at the back of his head.

"You have amazing grades."

"Did you go there in your pajamas?"

"No, I went in clothes because I love you, Olive, and I don't want this to continue. I want to see you happy, and not mope around the house. You never smile, you just sit and flick through those piles of paper of...of Mil, and it's unhealthy."

"unhealthy that I don't just sit there, and not get a job!"

"Alright. Okay, you have a purpose. I am here to say, you can get whatever you want."

Olive looked at him suspiciously. "Anything?" she moved forward, flashing back to the corgis. "At all?"

"Anything you want."

"Can I get...a dog? A corgi. There's a batch for sale at the clinic, and I'd really like one or two?"

"One or two?" Solomon was smiling at her, lines crinkling at the corner of his eyes.

"...Two. No! One. Let's go now."

She almost fell off the bed, scrabbling around for her shoes, eventually sliding her feet into adidas sandals, pulling her father out. He pushed actual shoes onto his feet, slowing her progress, getting into her Aunt's shiny red mustang, the top drawing up, as neither of them really liked wind in their hair. Solomon had looked at the car with distaste, muttering something about it being too flashy, which Olive totally agreed with.

They talked. He let her shout about Stiles, how much, 5 weeks in to the school year, she hated him, and how Lydia made her want to be her. How inefficient she felt. Her father didn't twitch when she mentioned werewolves, as he'd been somewhat close to the Hales, but he did make a comment on how she had to be safe. She got the safe from werewolves instead of the sex talk; this was her life.

Her father opened the door for her to jog into the clinic, Deaton looking up and smiling. Scott had a big bag of dog food over his shoulder, and he gave her a brief nod when she was sent back with him to pick out a puppy. Olive remembered Stiles's words, and struggled to say something not hostile.

"I-I'm sorry. For being mean. I," she twisted her fingers together as she continued, standing as he crouched to open the cage. "I think we should be allies. I'm not a useful as Stiles, but...I can make your life a bit easier by not arguing with you at every term."

"You think?"

Olive arched an eyebrow at the sassy response, but held a retort back. "Are we kinda good?"

"Yea, we're good. Now, which one do you want?" Scott was turned back to her. "These guys are freaking expensive, your dad gonna shell out for them?"

"He is, in fact. I got amazing grades. Like, a 106 in English 2, I'm pretty damn happy. And Stiles is supposed to come over and help me with my Algebra, but…" She trailed off as she found the smallest, sleepiest of the dogs, accepting it into her arms. "Aww, baby," she cooed, and he stretched languidly, one paw trembling with the force of it. "I do like this one."

"He's the best," Scott said, quietly amused.

"Do you have a name?"

"Well, it's a bit...Pem. We call him Pem, this," he pointed to a black and tan dog. "Brook, Welly, Sha-Sha, and Cory," he had moved down the line. "Because Stiles has no life, and we named them after their breed name. Pembroke Welsh Corgi."

"Sha-Sha?"

"Yea, it's lame, don't tell Allison."

"Now I want to take all of them, but, no dice."

Scott nodded, and Olive rolled her eyes inwardly at her words. 'no dice' , what the fuck was this, the 1980s? He set them slowly back onto the bed inside of the cage, shutting the door quickly as Cory rushed the door, yapping wildly. Pem looked down at his brother a bit regally, actually managing a sniff of disdain, before he rested his head on her shoulder, and she cupped his bottom, thumb stroking a white spot and the base of his little neck.

Her cheeks hurt from smiling at this point, and she tried to kill it, but Pem bumped his wet nose into her neck, and it flared back into life. Solomon smiled as well, standing with his wallet in his hands, passing by her to stroke the dog's head.

"We should name it money," Solomon commented.

"No, his name is Pem."

"600$, I expect these grades all year."

"I'll give you a 100 off," Dr. Deaton said, smiling around at them.

"Excellent, thank you," Solomon sighed, counting out 500 dollars. "At least it's not clothes."

"My Aunt will buy me clothes if I wanted. And I don't."

"Can I hold him for a second, or?"

"Well, you bought him."

Solomon chuckled, and Olive realized she hadn't heard her father laugh in years. She handed Pem over, despite his wriggle of protest, placing the dog in his arms. Her father smiled as well, bopping his nose, to which Pem wiggled it, inching back, pawing out towards her. It had already chosen sides, she liked that, letting her father give him back, bringing him over to the collar rack, consulting him as if he knew which one he wanted.

Eventually, she chose a simple white one, buckling it around his neck, setting him in front of Deaton.

"He's up to date on all his shots, and if you want him neutered, please bring him in as soon as possible. I recommend this," Dr. Deaton said.

"We will," Solomon said, watching Olive bring her nose to Pem's.

The dog gave a little wiggle when his nose bumped against hers, scooting back. Olive smiled wider, cupping it close again, when her father stood back from the table. She scooped Pem up into her arms, giving Scott a half wave, which he returned, as she jogged out to the mustang, setting him in her lap.

"I'll take care of him when you're at school, but when you're home, you have to take care of him."

She nodded, knowing she was radiating happiness now, thus the reason the dog was spinning around in her lap. Her father looked over at her.

"Take it down a notch, Halina."

"Alright," she said, reeling it in as best she could. "Sorry."

"I just found a piece of grass interesting, so, that's the only reason I had to have that stop."

Pem calmed down as well, sleeping by the time they pulled into the driveway. Stiles was sitting on the steps, and she frowned, collecting her dog, before she stepped out, picking over the grass towards him. Her father told her that they should go to Petsmart as soon as he put on pants and a less than dirty shirt, giving Stiles a brief smile as he walked inside.

"Hey," Stiles popped up when she came to a halt in front of him.

Olive didn't respond, holding Pem a bit closer, treating him somewhat like a security blanket.

"Sorry for being a douchebag yesterday."

She nodded, tucking her chin over Pem. "Whatever," she finally said.

"Can I come with you..?"

"I guess," Olive shrugged, really not in the mood to argue with him.

"Alright, cool."

"Did Lydia…?"

"She asked what a Stiles was," Stiles answered, sliding in the backseat. "Kind of blows. Is that one of the Corgis that Doctor Deaton had?"

She nodded, smiling. "Yea."

"That's Pem, isn't it?"

"Yea, you named him."

"Can I hold him?"

Olive shrugged, handing him off, reaching for him again when he gave a little whine, but he was in Stiles's arms already. Her attention shifted from Pem to Stiles, a faint smile crossing her lips, splitting into a real one when Pem started to lick him a bit too enthusiastically. He started laughing, an actual smile spreading across his face, holding out the puppy in front of him.

Pem wriggled wildly, making an effort to paddle towards him, flailing in the air. He almost flipped over in his effort, giving a bark of excitement, tongue lolling from his mouth. Obviously, everyone loved Stiles.

"He's so cute," he laughed, looking to her. "I'm going to have to come over more often."

"Just for the dog?"

"And the only girl who seems to acknowledge my existence."

"Lydia is stupid."

"No, she's not, I'm just a loser, so," Stiles shrugged.

Olive clambered in the back shoving him over, before she hit him again. "Shut up, you're not, I can't believe you'd even say that. If anyone's a loser, it's me, because wow…."

"But you're good-looking, and not too sarcastic, and also, the opposite sex_ notices_ you."

"They do not"

"Oh hell yea. Like, Jackson only hangs out with good-looking girls. And some guys on the team who aren't in a relationship talk about your boobs, and stuff."

Olive wasn't exactly overjoyed with this news, but, whatever.

"But I'm weird, so." And she was. Because that's what kids had been calling her since she'd entered the school system.

"Weird's good, I'm weird. At least you're not boring like those other girls, and you talk to me, so there's another plus."

"I barely talk."

"Aha, no, you talk to me alot, and that's what matters."

"Because you're the coolest."

He gave a little grin, nodding, setting Pem in her lap, wrist overlapping hers, long fingers tickling the inside of her palm. Olive took a deep breath, allowing her hand to remain there, almost uncomfortable by the time they got to Pets Smart, able to place Pem safely in her laptop bag, leaving the computer in the car. As they walked together among the stacks, she wondered how they looked. Did they look like a couple? Was that what she wanted?

She liked the way he talked, how he could make her laugh, an emote she hadn't done a lot of. Olive realized how he didn't smile, of course. So, she felt like she couldn't make him happy, and fuck, she wanted him to be happy. She knew she was starting to sound like an 8 year old again.

_What are you here for? _She couldn't confidently say Milo anymore. It was becoming more about Stiles, and she didn't want that. But maybe Milo didn't want her to not focus on her life, because him getting his nose into things he couldn't handle was the reason he'd been murdered. Murdered.

Stiles carried the dog bed out, setting it on his head briefly, and she smiled, a bit preoccupied to really get the idea of it. Something caught her eye, a little bit of blonde, and Olive stopped, turning to track the woman into the store.

Her hands curled into fists, and Pem woke up abruptly, yapping wildly, growling and barking. People started to argue around her, and a shoving match broke out, fueling a chain reaction. It was her. KAte Argent, and Olive was going to hurt her; no not just hurt her...she wanted to make her suffer. All those broken bones, little burn spots on Milo's skin had signaled that he'd been tortured.

So she was going to prolong it, and she wanted to see the relief in her eyes, when she finally earned death. Olive was here for Milo, not Stiles. Not to make friends. Not to like a guy who probably didn't like her at all.

"Olive, hey," Her father shook her. "Stop it, stop it now."

Olive pointed at her as she entered into starbucks, smiling like she deserved to be happy. "It was her. She killed him."

MAgic had skipped her father's generation, but not Milo and hers. Solomon wasn't affected by the magic, though, so he was able to break into her little circle of calm.

"We don't know-"

"I do! Because I care about him, and you just sit and buy me dogs!"

"I CARE!" Solomon thundered, grabbing her shoulders, shocking her out of it. "I care about you, and this is not healthy. You obviously don't care about yourself, or what Milo would be wanting you to do! I cannot handle another one of you dying, you're all I have left, Halina."

"You can't stop me. I can do what I want to, and guess what, I'm going to make sure she dies painfully," Olive hissed quietly, but she calmed down, petting Pem into a state similar to hers. Maybe she should've gotten a cat, so she could pet it when she turned around in a chair, or something. Pem would have to suffice.

Stiles jogged up to her, grabbing her elbow, eyes flashing black. "Are you insane?"

Olive straightened her jacket, looking up at him. "No."

"Then don't let your emotions get control of you."

"Why?" she snapped. "It's all fine and good when you let your powers go, because it's 'cool', but when I do, it's dangerous?"

"I never said it's cool, and I don't let them fly around like that! Those are innocent people, and you just hijack them like they're puppets."

Olive pushed him away from her, sitting in front this time. He wasn't going to help her. That was fine. She didn't need him any more.


	6. Breaking Down

Olive realized Stiles's dad was hurt. Maybe Saturday had just been him loitering around her to get his mind off him. She wasn't sure how she felt about it, with the revelation that Milo's killer was in killing distance. What a nice arrangement.

Stiles and Scott moved down the hallway, stopping for a second, and Olive shifted her attention to her locker. Stiles came up to her slowly, while Olive kept him in her sights. Someone came up to her before he did, hand slamming down next to her, making her jump. She looked up into a random guys face, wondering who the hell was getting near her.

"Lydia told me," the dude said. "You were interested."

Fuck.

"I'm really not."

"Oh come on. You need a boyfriend."

She frowned, crossing her arms over her chest. "I really don't think I do."

"Actually you do. Hell, you're cute, but people are going to start thinking you're into that Stiles kid."

He touched her arm, hand sliding it down. She stepped back, hitting the wall, actually nervous now. Olive had no idea who this guy was, and she was confused as to why he was stepping into her like this. Her words stalled in her throat, and he must've taken that for consent, because he got even closer, even as she struggled, gaping like a fish, wondering how anyone could find a struggling girl attractive.

And no one was stepping in.

Then Stiles was there, pushing him back, obviously giving him a little shock, propelling him a bit further back into the wall of lockers, the teacher's door that had created the hole between the wall and lockers flying open. The boy careened headlong into the door, falling heavily onto his ass, and Stiles gave a little snort of derision, turning back to her. His eyes were black, and he tried to blink them away.

He called over his shoulder, a hand shielding his eyes, "Dude, try to stand up, I'm like, 10 pounds."

Everyone laughed, and moved on, the guy getting up, striding away, his friends following him. Stiles looked down at her, body shifted to hide his face from the passing students, blinking rapidly, and eventually grasping his face, rubbing frantically at his eyes, as if that would do something. Olive reached for his hand, being that he never wore short-sleeved shirt for some reason, radiating calm, knowing this was somewhat her fault.

"You need to say something," he told her.

"I couldn't." Because she was useless.

He shook his head, the black crawling back slowly to his pupils, leaving his eyes clear. Olive wondered why he kept coming back to her, when she continually pushed him away.

"Anyways, I need your help," he said.

"yea?"

"I kind of need to steal some things."

"Well, I owe you for making him go away, so, lead the way."

Stiles frowned. "You don't owe me anything," he said slowly.

Olive shrugged, crossing her arms tight over her chest, giving a little shiver despite her jacket. Stiles gave a noncommittal noise, and lead the way, ducking into his coach's office. This was not how she wanted to be spend the start of her lunch break, but here she was, keeping people away from the door, actually straining herself to do this one thing. It'd also been 10 minutes, and Stiles was still searching.

"Come on, Stiles," Olive urged.

"Give me a second," he jiggled the lock, lips pressed together hard enough in concentration, that when he released them, they were red.

Her attention faltered for a second, and she scrambled to put the little barrier back up. The idea of her manipulation in this case, was that no one liked the door; hated the door in fact. Feared it even; which wasn't too much of a stretch now, to be honest.. Actually, she felt a bit like Tag from the New X-Men, and the reference made her smile, maybe because she was given the idea of being a hero.

Which she was not.

"Got it," Stiles said, stuffing the arm band and phone in his lacrosse bag. "I'm going to hit Scott with balls while he can't hit back."

"Kinky."

"No, I mean," Stiles rubbed the back of his neck, motioning in front of him as they walked out. "Going out there, and hitting him with lacrosse balls. Since he'd been a bit of an ass, I'll relish this. You wanna watch?"

"No, I…"

"Are you going to mope in the library again?"

She bristled, stopping suddenly in the nearly empty hallway. "I don't mope."

"Fine, sit in there alone?"

"Alone is how I should be, hmmm? I just use people as puppets, don't I?"

Stiles rolled his eyes, shouldering his backpack. "Oh my god, I didn't mean-"

"Yes you did. And if you didn't, you said it."

She turned away from him, high heeled boots making hollow sounds against the tiles of the school.

"Hal, come on," he called. "Dude, don't- Hal!"

Olive crossed her arms over her chest, starting a little jog towards the library, actually sniffling. She'd taken the words a bit harsher than he'd known, and it's not as if she was willing to show weakness at this moment. At anytime.

* * *

There was a fairly large banging noise on her window, making it through the barrier of sound erected by earphones. Olive jerked them from her ears, slamming her Chromebook shut, stuffing her phone into a small compartment, looking around. All her date about Milo, something her father would call once again unhealthy, was on that phone.

The noise was coming from her balcony, and she tugged the curtains away, jumping back when she saw a face smooshed up against the glass. Stiles, okay, nothing to be afraid of.

He pointed at the doorknob, eyes going black for a second, and the gold enameled piece of metal flew off into the air, doors creaking open. She hadn't done anything to really deserve the lecture to come, as well, because when her Aunt saw this...someone was going to lose their shit, whether her Aunt let Greg take over in the scolding, or Solomon took over for once. Olive sighed, plopping back on the bed, moving close to Pem's sleeping spot to soak up some warth robbed from Stiles' entrance.

"I need you to come with me."

"Why?"

"I can't tell you, but I just need you."

"What do you mean you can't tell me?" Olive asked, feigning hesitation, though at his words, she'd already made up her mind to come.

"I mean, Scott is going to fill us in on the way."

She collected her laptop case, letting him grab her elbow, clutching onto his bicep. Or rather, the lack of one. There was just something ridiculously weird about flying to Olive, and she couldn't stomach a full plane ride without being sedated. And Stiles had the shittiest balance ever, so as he hovered them downwards, there were jerks, and sudden stops. Olive squeaked loud enough to give away their position, and Stiles's instantly put a hand over her mouth, shaking his head no wildly, descent much faster now.

Her knees buckled when they hit the ground, sending both her and Stiles to the ground, arms wrapping around his waist somewhat pathetically. Stiles had better do her homework for the rest of the fucking year, this shit was ridiculous. And whatever it was, it couldn't be dangerous, because she couldn't handle danger.

"It's definitely dangerous," Scott informed them.

Stiles whined in his throat, stopping the car, accurately parked, something he could only do, apparently, at night. Olive scooted out, pulling her black turtleneck down abit, crossing her arms over her chest, standing at Stiles' side. She was fairly sure that when it came down to it, Stiles could get her out if needed.

"This is a terrible idea," Stiles said.

Olive gave a little shrug of consent,

"Yeah, I know," Scott said.

"But we're still gonna do it?" Stiles asked.

"I really don't think you guys do anything but run headlong into danger, have you noticed that? I know you don't drink, but it seems like it."

"Can you think of something better?" Scott asked.

"Well, personally I'm a fan of ignoring a problem until eventually it just goes away," Stiles said, motioning away from his body.

"Just make sure we can get inside," Scott said.

olive opened the back of his jeep, getting a boost from him to lean over and scrambled around for the flashlight, nudging the cutters towards him. She grabbed her phone, shoving it in her pocket, resting back down on the ground and shutting the back slowly. The purr of a car alerted her to Derek's presence. At least, she assumed from what Scott had told them.

"He's here." Scott stated the obvious, as Derek stood up out of his car. "Where's my boss?"

"He's in the back," Derek said.

Olive and Stiles leaned to get a better look, the dark not aiding her eyes. Dr. Deaton, a man who'd recently neutered her puppy, was tied up, duct tape around his mouth. He looked thoroughly unconscious, bundled in the back seat, and not twitching. She frowned, glancing to Derek, thinking that this was just a bit of overkill, or over-tied-up.

"Oh, well, he looks comfortable," Stiles commented.

They turned to stride into the school, Olive itching to put her hand through Stiles' elbow, just to have some reassurance that everything would be okay. Competing with werewolves didn't spell good for anybody. She jogged forward, touching his shoulder briefly to turn him to her, unsure what to say now that she had her attention. He gave her shoulder a little nudge, lifting his hand up to ruffle her hair, something that Scott had done just to annoy her. The same emotion never applied.

"Wait. Hey. What are you doing?" Derek's voice was raised slightly

"You said I was linked with the Alpha. I'm gonna see if you're right," Scott said, picking over his words.

Stiles gave her the flashlight, holding onto the lacrosse stick, as if that could do something. He leaned the stick against the door, lining the chain-link cutters up with said chain

"I suppose having two witches, a Salem one at that, on our side could help," Derek said.

Stiles missed the chain link by a mile as he brought the cutter's down, gaping like a fish. "Uh, no-"

"Oh please, it's so obvious. First off, you radiate power, and she walks like she rules the planet, so," Derek stated.

Olive's mouth dropped, "I do not!"

"Okay, maybe not, but sometimes," Scott muttered.

Eventually, they got inside, heading towards the office overhead system. Derek was in much better shape, only contrasting the 2 times she'd seen him. Also, he was definitely more threatening now, standing outside with her. She'd chosen the outside, because it just seemed...well, Derek was a big, imposing dude, she would take her chances on this heightened survival rate.

Her scenarios were cut off, as apparently, Scott and Stiles sacrificed a cat to the Pagan Gods. Derek sighed, barely shifting.

"You've got to be kidding me," he mumbled, giving a little shake of his head

Derek crossed his arms over his chest, then uncrossed them somewhat promptly as a serious, rumbling howl ripped through the speakers. Olive raised her eyebrows, standing off the Jeep as well, amazed at Scott's breath control for one, and the volume. His breath control. She laughed; like Scott was a singer, or something.

The older man was not laughing at all, growling at them when they came out, "I'm gonna kill both of you. What the hell was that? What are you trying to do, attract the entire state to the school?"

Stiles was grinning like an absolute idiot still, giving Olive a 'did you hear that' look. She gave a little smile, shuffling her feet, putting up with his

"Sorry. I didn't know it would be that loud," Scott said.

"Yeah, it was loud." Stiles gave a short laugh. "And it was AWESOME!" he sang the last bit, holding out a hand to Olive for her to high five.

Oh god, what a dork, but still...She highfived him, thrown off a bit when he fitted his fingers through hers, biting down on his bottom lip in something akin to happiness. Or was he flirting with her? Now she wanted to kiss him, wanted him to pull her in close, and really kiss her. .

"Shut up. Stop holding hands," Derek commanded.

"Don't be such a sour wolf," Stiles shot back, keeping her hand in his.

"We're just friends," Olive chorused, taking her hand away, knowing not to get her hopes up.

Stiles gave her a funny look, as Scott frowned, leaning forward.

"What'd you do with him?"

"What?" Derek's turn brought all their attention to the empty backseat. "I didn't do anything."

Then something came up on him, lifting him in the air, blood beginning to pour from his mouth. Olive was bundled under Stiles arms, almost shoved into the school before him, catching the sight of Derek thrown roughly through the air, hitting the brick wall of the school. She ducked down, holding the door shut with them, tremors rocking her frame, knuckles practically white,

"Hey," Stiles panted, nudging her. "If we make it out of here, I really want...don't date anyone on first string, okay!?"

"What?" Olive said dumbly

"I mean- You're mean, like, most of the time, but I really like talking to you, because you can match my wit, and I really like your hair, and you're pretty, and oh my god we're going to die! Scott, you're making me lose my freaking mind!"

"Lock the door!" Scott directed, while Olive crouched there and stared at Stiles. "This is not the time to discuss who she can date, just-god!"

He wanted to stop her from dating? For a reason? The chips were up, even if they still were on her shoulder.

"Does it look like I have a key?" Stiles snapped. "And you tell me all the damn time about how much you love Allison; _oh Allison, my Allison_!"

"Shut up, and grab something!"

"What?"

"Anything."

Stiles popped his head up to look at the chain-link cutters. She caught his elbow, giving him a look.

"No," she said.

"Yes," Stiles answered

"No!"

"Yes! I'm going to do this, I can do this, because I am really, really tired of letting-" He cut himself off, opening the door to slide out.

Oh great, there went free dinner. Olive waited anxiously inside with Scott, urging him to move a little faster. The Alpha prowled out from behind the Jeep, as Stiles picked up the cutters. Scott began to bang on the door, and Olive just concentrated on him, so he could do just that. There was a reason they worked together, the reason she'd thought them a pair...

As the monster leaped, it was knocked back, and Stiles was able to sprint back in, as it hurled itself repeatedly against a barrier they'd made. Excuse her, Stiles had made; with her assistance. Assistance, as in she was just there to concentrate his power. Secondary assistance. At least, she was only there to not make him expend all his energy when his powers spiraled out of his control.

Stiles barricaded the door, stepping back, reaching for her hand. Olive didn't let him take it, instead trying to reassure him, pointing positive emotions his way, reserving negative ones behind a little floodgate. She was negating her later assurance of sanity when this was over, but that's what she did. Put herself to the side to help other people, because despite all of her anger, it wasn't their fault Milo was dead. She knew precisely who's fault it was.

"Where is it, where did it go?! That won't hold, will it?"

"Probably not."

Where had her life gone?


	7. Never Let Me Go

Everything had gone down hill when Stiles' battery had gone through the window. Their escape route had been nixed, and Dr. Deaton was still no where to be found. A while back, Stiles had suggested that they call Stiles' dad, which was shot down by Stiles and her. Then he suggested calling Solomon, obviously forgetting the fact that Solomon had no magic, whatsoever.

Then they'd ran, she did alot of running these days, and tried to get out, thwarted by a dumpster. Stiles was fairly desperate to not die at school, which she seconded very loudly, heading the sprint in the opposite direction when the Alpha came at him. She wasn't going to bring up the idea that maybe they should just give Scott to him.

Around the time they barricaded the door, she was on the verge of really telling him to give himself up. If it came down to it, she'd throw him out. Stiles had then taunted this thing, which would be ranked among the stupidest things he'd ever done in his entire life, and almost brought the roof down on them. Running again.

At least she was stationary now. With the arrival of Allison, Lydia, and Jackson….

She was shunted inside a classroom, standing back from the chair stacking, taking in the windows. She supposed...her and Stiles would have to be sassy by themselves. Very sad.

"Guys -," he tired. "Can we just wait a second? You guys, listen to me, w - Can we wait a second? Guys? Stiles talking. Can we hang on one second, please?"

His eyes flicked black as he raised his voice, "Hello!" His eyes were ringed slightly as if the black would seep out, but he cleared his throat, crossing his arms over his chest. "Okay, nice work. Really beautiful job, everyone. Now - what should we do about the 20 foot wall of windows?"

Everyone looked, eyes widening. Jackson was more perceptive, and pointed at Stiles, looking to her. She shrugged, passing her hand trhough the air as if the clear it, dodging a question for Stiles.

"Can somebody please explain to me what's going on, because I'm freaking out here. And I would like to know why. Scott?"

"Somebody killed the janitor," Stiles explained.

"What?" Lydia asked.

"Yeah, the janitor's dead," Stiles said.

Olive was cast in a shadow. Stiles could say whatever about..whatever, but he didn't look at her like he looked at Lydia. As they talked about the dead janitor, she was shunted to the side, Stiles giving Lydia his full attention, something she never really got. She would take a back seat all the time, because she wasn't...important.

"What's he talking about? Is this a joke?" Allison asked, smile flickering across her lips.

"What, who killed him?" Jackson asked.

"No, no, no, no. This was supposed to be over. The mountain lion killed - " Lydia started.

Jackson interrupted, "No, don't you get it? There wasn't a mountain lion."

"Who was it? What does he want? What's happening? Scott!"

"I - I don't know. I - I just," Scott was stammering madly. " If - if we go out there, he's gonna kill us."

"Us? He's gonna kill us?" Lydia asked.

Allison looked over to Stiles, "Who? Who is it?

Stiles gaped, eyes moving from Olive, to Scott. She shoved her nail into her mouth, biting down repeatedly, shifting nervously in the space between Stiles and Lydia. Scott remained hunched over, while Allison

"It's Derek," Scott finally exclaimed. "It's Derek Hale."

"Derek killed the janitor?" Jackson queried.

"Are you sure?" Allison asked, as if he'd actually lie about someone dying. The person, maybe, but not the death.

"I saw him," Scott said.

"The mountain li - " Lydia tried.

"No, Derek killed them," Scott said.

"All of them?" Allison sounded shocked, as she should be.

"Yeah, starting with his own sister."

"The bus driver?"

"And the guy in the video store - it's been Derek the whole time. He's in here with us. And if we don't get out now - He's going to kill us too."

"Call the cops," Jackson said almost instantly

"No," Stiles said instantly.

"Wh - what do you mean "No?" Jackson asked.

"I mean no. You wanna hear it in spanish? No," Stiles stuck his jaw out stubbornly, "Look, Derek killed three people, okay? We don't know what he's armed with."

"Your dad is armed with an entire sheriff's department. Call him," Jackson ordered, gesturing towards Stiles animatedly.

"I'm calling," Lydia said, stepping out of the little line they'd created to interrogate Scott.

Stiles started forward, nudging Olive over to get closer to Lydia.

"No, Lydia, would you just hold on a sec -" Stiles reached for the phone.

Jackson shoved him back, allowing Lydia to place the call. Scott stepped in to stop Jackson from going any further, and Olive caught his elbow, reeling him back in. His eyes darted to Allison, and Olive frowned, tapping her thumb over her lips, intensely interested by this development. It had to be a power thing? Or did he really mean it?

That muscled thing was really hard to read, Olive decided. He always worked for some kind of ulterior motive, which, at points, rivaled her own powers of manipulation.

"Yes, we're at Beacon Hills high school. We're trapped, and we need you to - but -" Lydia pulled the phone away from her ear. " She hung up on me."

"The police hung up on you?

Lydia nodded, "She said they got a tip warning them that there are gonna be prank calls about a break - in at the high school. She said if I called again that they're gonna trace it and have me arrested.

"Okay, then call again," Allison said.

"No, they won't trace a cell and they'll send a car to your house before they send anyone here," Stiles said.

"Or he might actually come if you call," Olive responded, looking up at him, arms tight over her chest.

"No-god, how many times do I have to say no?!"

"Well, they're not going to feel safe, and," she hissed the next words so quietly only Stiles could hear it, "Shut up, until you do it."

"What the—what - what is this?" Allison pressed hands to her head. "Why does Derek wanna kill us? Why is he killing anyone?" Allison asked, talking over Olive.

Everyone looked to Scott except for Olive, who still looked up at Stiles, wanting him to use what he had. If he had the guts, he could rid the Alpha of his own. Wasted talent; she should be able to do what he did.

"Why's everyone looking at me?" Scott asked.

"Is he the one that sent her the text?" Lydia queried.

"No. I mean, I don't know," Scott was really not good under pressure.

"Is he the one that called the police?" Allison volleyed another question at him.

"I don't know!" Scott exclaimed, and they all kind of leaned back. Scott was a mellow dude, he didn't shout much. In fact, if Olive said, his voice was so monotone, she swore he was taking Xanax, or something.

"All right, why don't we ease back on the throttle here, yeah?" Stiles pushed Scott over, away from the group.

Lydia whispered something along the lines of, 'I told you so'. Olive crossed arms over her chest, avoiding Jackson's questioning gaze, wishing she could get a finger on him, persuade him not to pursue the venture of Stiles' oddity for the time being. With Lydia there, she might assume the worst. Jackson watched the whisper a few feet over, eyes narrowed as he observed them.

Olive felt she should be included in the huddle, but whatever.

"Okay, assheads - new plan. Stiles calls his useless dad and tells him to send someone with a gun and decent aim. Are we good with that?" Jackson was instantly aggressive, which really wasn't a good idea, in this situation.

"He's right," Scott said. "Tell him the truth if you have to, just - just call him.

Stiles's words were hard to catch, but she heard them;"I'm not watching my dad get eaten alive."

"All right, give me the phone,"Jackson surged forward, grabbing his shoulder.

Stiles brought his fist down, sending Jackson careening off to the side. Olive shoved her fists into the pockets of her sweatpants, eyes flicking to Stiles, taking quick strides to his side, resting a hand on his shoulder. Surprisingly, his eyes weren't even tinted black. She looked to Jackson, looking up at him, pinky landing on the skin of his neck. Stiles did what she wanted, what they all wanted, and called his father.

"Dad, hey, it's me. And it's your voice mail. Look, I need you to call me back now. Like, right now."

Olive caught the wiff of smugness from Jackson, whipping her head around to glare at his hunched form, wondering how she hadn't caught that. Her hand tightened on Stiles's shoulder, curling in the cloth fabric of his tan jacket. No one was going to out manipulate her.

The door began banging, and everyone started to mill around in a panic, backing away from the trembling door. Why it wasn't just killing them made Olive frustrated. If it was going to toy with them, it may as well be a cat.

"We're at the school, okay? Dad, we're at the school," Stiles ended his call, sliding his phone back in his pocket.

Screws came loose,and the metal actually bent. Olive fisted her hand in his jacket, shaking him briefly, hissing, "Do something." Stiles shook his head and she let his jacket go, thoroughly disgusted with his inability to use the talents he possessed. Not inability, just stubborn refusal.

"Oh my god," Lydia yelped, pressing her cheek into Jackson's coat.

Allison was at Scott's side, apparently forgetting his little snap.

"The kitchen, the door out of the kitchen leads to the stairwell," Stiles said.

"Which only goes up," Scott stated.

The last of the screw flew out of their hold, and they turned and ran, sprinting up steps, till they came to the second level, checking the first door. Locked. The second one wasn't locked, but it was the chemistry lab. Basically, Mr. Harris did continue to scare her, even here. Okay, yea, the Alpha would kill her, but that man would make her life a living hell if she made it out.

"Up is better than here," Stiles said, and Olive nodded rapidly.

"Jackson, how many people can fit in your car?" Scott asked.

"Five, if someone squeezes on someone's lap," Jackson said.

"Jackson five," Olive muttered, mostly to herself, and Stiles laughed, the noise muffled behind a hand.

"Five? I barely fit in the back," Allison whispered loudly.

"It doesn't matter. There's no getting out without drawing attention," Stiles said.

"What about this?" Scott ran across the room to a door in the corner, Stiles and Olive following. "This leads to the roof. We can go down the fire escape to the parking lot in, like, seconds."

"deadbolt, genius," Olive sniped, biting her thumb nail too hard, tasting blood.

"The janitor has a key," Scott acted as if this was a huge discovery.

"You mean his body has it," Stiles stated.

"I can get it. I can find him by scent, by blood," Scott looked as if he was already planning it.

Olive was all for it. Team Scott, yea, as long as she got out of her, and back to her new dog. She should've stayed home. Next time, she was not going on an exodus to where ever with these two.

"Well, gee, that sounds like an incredibly terrible idea. What else you got?"

"I'm getting the key," Scott decided, loud enough for everyone to hear.

"Are you serious?" Allison said.

"Well, it's the best plan. Someone has to get the key if we wanna get out of here," Scott said, as Stiles and Olive sidled up behind him.

"You can't go out there unarmed," Allison put up a hand, as if that would stop him.

Scott reached out for a pointy thing that Mr. Harris used to be extra sarcastic. He waved it around as everyone gave him a non-plussed look, completely unamused.

"Well, it's better than nothing," Scott tried.

"There's gotta be something else," Stiles sighed.

"I'll go with him," Olive volunteered, raising her hand briefly. "Might as well-" Get killed now, rather than later. She decided against that, opening her mouth to say, " you know what, positivity."

"As well as that, there is something else," Lydia put in, looking over to the chemical cabinet.

"What are we gonna do? Throw acid on him?" Stiles asked.

"No. Like a fire bomb. In there is everything you need to make a self - igniting molotov cocktail," Lydia was talking faster than her usual, confident way of doing so.

"Self - igniting - " Stiles started.

"- molotov cocktail." Lydia finished, and everyone was silent for a beat." What? I read it somewhere."

"We don't have a key for that either," Scott said.

Jackson rolled his eyes, before digging his elbow into the glass. Olive really needed to not be here. Mr. Harris's face tomorrow-if there was one-was going to rival her Aunt's scolding once she got home. They set up the proper station at Lydia's direction, though Olive stood off to the side, wondering when she'd gotten so friendly with Scott as to risk death.

"Jackson, hand me the sulfuric acid," Lydia asked, and Olive watched as Jackson chose the wrong one.

His emotions were so jumbled, she couldn't pin down anything expect that tell-tale throb of anger. He was angry at someone, wanted something, and she was fairly sure he was jeopardizing hers and Scott's mission just to achieve this.

Lydia corked the bottle, handing it to Scott.

Allison voiced her complaints, "No. No, this is insane, you can't do this. You cannot go out there."

"We can't just sit here waiting for Stiles' dad to check his messages," Scott pointed out.

"You could die. Don't you get that? He's killed three people," Allison had leaned across the table to reaffirm this.

"And we're next. Somebody has to do something," Scott tapped Olive, moving over to the door. He looked hesitant as he touched her, as if he shouldn't allow her with him. But she was going; because she she couldn't take Stiles looking at Lydia at every moment she wasn't turned to him.

"Scott, just stop. Do you remember - do you remember when you told me you knew whether or lying? That I had a tell. Well, so do you. You're a horrible liar. And you've been lying all night. Just," Allison was whispering, voice cracking here and there as she started to cry. " - just please - please don't go. Please don't leave us. Please,"

He started to walk towards the door, saying. "Lock it behind us."

Allison grabbed Scott, just as Stiles took a step towards her, long fingers stretched to her as if he was going to say stop. Stop, and stay, or stop her, kiss her like Allison was kissing Scott, but...like Stiles only could. She swallowed hard, mouth opening to say his name, wishing she hadn't volunteered, that she wasn't….

Scott walked out of the door, closing it before he handed her the chemical combination. Olive was 50% sure it wasn't going to work, but she was going to follow Scott anyways, staying behind him as he tracked the smell.

They ended up venturing under the bleachers, Olive making sure she wasn't breathing too hard as Scott moved forward. He lifted his head up, blood dripping on his cheek. Scott slapped his hand down, holding up red for himself to see. Looking up, they both saw the bloody form of the Janitor. Pete, or something? She'd never really interacted with him, so she felt little to nothing.

Scott moved into position to take the keys, stretching, the keys beginning to jangle. The bleachers shifted, moved, and begun to close. Olive snapped her fingers, shifting where she stood, beginning to bounce. They dropped, as Scott did, and she picked them up, leading the run out of the bleachers.

She slammed into the wall as she made it out, shouting as she felt her shoulder pop out, hanging there limply. Fuck.

The creature prowled towards her and Scott.

"Come on. Come get me. Olive!"

She stepped up, and threw the bottle. No fire. Nothing. The creature leapt towards her, claws ripping through her turtle neck, sending her flying through the air, pain spiraling through her body, returning ten fold as she hit the wall of the gymnasium. Olive shuffled wildly, trying desperately to her to her feet as a long howl filled the school. Scott bucked and jerked, as the creature ran off, head turning to her briefly, snorting as if disgusted.

Olive felt something warm and wet begin to pulse from her abdominal region, where the claws had been. She pressed her hand to the location, drawing back, seeing blood, her blood on her hand. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she struggled to stay awake, knowing she was going into some kind of panic. Scott got up, and walked out, nails longer.

She tasted blood as she sat up, reaching for him, falling forward. I'm going to bleed out, she thought, I'm going to bleed out, and die, and Milo won't get-

"Fuck that," she whispered, heaving herself to her feet using her one working hand, feeling blood moving a bit faster out of her. "Fuck."

At least she was ground floor, stumbling towards the front doors like the living dead, world flicking black once or twice. Then Stiles had her, shouting at her, words muffled by the thick veil of pain that insisted on dulling her senses. She stared at him, only able to focus on one thing.

"Olive, don't let go," Stiles said, those words getting through, and she grabbed his wrist. "My dad-Ambulance-" his words cut out.

"It hurts," she stated dumbly, pressing her hand on her wounds, everything dimming. "I don't want…"

Her knees wobbled and gave out. Stiles followed her descent instantly, actually cupping her in his arms.

"I don't want to die without actually kissing a guy," she laughed, blood oozing out as she did so. "Wow, I have the shittiest life ever."

"You kissed me," Stiles said instantly, blue and red flashing lights coming through the windows of the front doors. "Remember? We were like..8, and you were forcing Scott to do that marriage thing. Don't even get me started on how much I still collectively hate that. So, you kissed me after you said I do, and I remember that to this day, because that was way too young to be doing anything."

"We were just kids."

Was it just her proximity to the option of passing out, or was she…really contemplating the word love?

Then the EMT's had her on a stretcher, talking quickly to each other. She finally let go.

Olive shifted awake, head lolling pathetically to the side, shuffling once or twice, trying to focus hard enough to make Stiles notice her. Don't be so self-absorbed, she thought, reaching out to no one in particular. Her small hand was encased in Dr. Deaton's, both of his hands cupping the one, patted once or twice as the engine started. Stiles jogged towards Lydia, eyes flickering once to her, but nothing came of that move.

Dr. Deaton looked at him as well, transferring his gaze presently onto hers as the EMT's closed the doors. He patted her hand once again, smoothing wet from her cheek. Olive's chest shook despite the pain, pressing her lips together, breathing rapidly, shuddering with pre-crying breaths, bandages stopping much other movement. Or was it post? She didn't know.

What she did know, was that she didn't have him. Not in the slightest.

"Boys are stupid, Halina," Deaton said, squeezing her hand, guessing precisely what she was thinking.

She nodded.

"Wait till college, they'll notice a gorgeous girl like you, I swear."

She shook her head, opening her mouth, voice cracking as she said, "I'm a bit too weird."

"Weird, how so?" Amusement colored his voice, as if he didn't believe her.

"I can't tell you," She said eventually, recognising the harsh light of the hospital.

"I know more than you know, Halina. You are welcome to talk to me. I was friends with your mother far longer than I have been with your father. I know."

The door opened, and she was pulled out of the ambulance, hand slipping from Deaton's friendly, assuring hold. He waved at her, and she didn't move to respond in kind.

Stiles was in love with Lydia. 5'3, strawberry blonde, gorgeous, and not pathetic. She was 5'6, somewhat brunette, okay, odd, too snippy, too…. Morphine dragged her under, out of her thoughts, into a perfect, perfect land of bliss. No Stiles, no Lydia, no high school.

Nothing.


End file.
